Thornmaker thrust forward with precision born of decades of training.
Boarstaff didn't parry or block, he sidestepped with deliberate economy of movement, one hand reaching for the spearmaster's extended wrist rather than the weapon itself.
"They target joints." Boarstaff rested his fingers lightly on Thornmaker's pulse point. "Pressure points. Pain centers. They know our anatomy better than we do."
Understanding dawned in Thornmaker's eyes. He adjusted his stance, moving the spear in a defensive sweep that incorporated the lessons of Sebastian's demonstration.
"Better," Boarstaff acknowledged. "But still not enough."
He addressed the watching warriors directly. "Vampire nobles don't just fight differently… they think differently. There's no honor in their combat. No respect for opponents. They've engineered themselves to maximize suffering." His voice hardened. "When we rescued Sarah, Zarek's only goal was to inflict pain. If Sebastian hadn't intervened, none of us would have made it out alive."
The training field went silent. The mention of Oakspear's sacrifice during the rescue mission, a loss still raw for many, brought home the reality of what they faced.
"So, how do we fight them?" Leafsong asked, her voice steady despite the fear evident in her eyes.
"Together," Boarstaff replied simply. "Always together. Vampire nobles are designed to target individual weaknesses. Their mechanical precision excels in one-on-one combat." He gestured for four warriors to join him and Thornmaker. "But they struggle against coordinated group attacks."
He positioned the warriors in a formation he'd been devising since returning from the citadel. "Three-point engagement.Never less than three warriors to one noble." He demonstrated how each warrior covered the others' vulnerable points, how their weapons created overlapping zones of protection.
"Short thrusts only," he instructed. "Quick attacks that don't leave you exposed. Never fully extend. Never fight alone."
The warriors practiced the formation, movements awkward at first but gradually finding rhythm. Boarstaff moved among them, adjusting stances, correcting grips.
"What about their speed?" another warrior asked. "Sebastian moved faster than any of us could track."
"Speed can be countered with prediction," Thornmaker interjected, finding his role as instructor despite yesterday's defeat. "They move quickly, but often in patterns. Watch for those patterns."
Boarstaff nodded approval. "And remember, they target pain points. Protect your throat, joints, and eyes above all else." He tapped specific points on his armor. "Reinforce these areas."
As the training progressed, Boarstaff felt a growing certainty that it wasn't enough. No amount of practice could truly prepare them for the terrible reality of facing nobility in combat. But they had to try.
"One last thing," he said as the session neared its end. "Vampire nobles rely on terror as much as skill. They've engineered themselves to appear monstrous in battle, brass components shifting beneath skin, faces transforming, unnatural movements. Don't let fear paralyze you."
The warriors exchanged glances, several nodding grimly. They'd all seen Sebastian's demonstration, had witnessed the liquid metal flowing beneath his skin, the supernatural grace of his movements.
"Sebastian showed restraint," Boarstaff concluded. "His brothers won't."
As the warriors dispersed to continue practicing in smaller groups, Thornmaker approached Boarstaff, his expression troubled.
"You truly believe they're coming," he said quietly.
"I know they are," Boarstaff replied. "Cornelius won't abandon his heir. Not to us."
Thornmaker studied the warriors attempting their new formations. "They're not ready."
"No," Boarstaff agreed. "But they're all we have."
They stood in silence, watching the training continue across the field. The morning sun caught on spear tips and armor, turning metal to gold. These warriors, people Boarstaff had sworn to protect, faced an enemy they could barely comprehend. An enemy whose combat style violated every principle of honor their society valued.
"Do you regret it?" Thornmaker asked suddenly. "Letting Sebastian stay here? Starting all this?"
Boarstaff considered the question, memories of the previous night rising unbidden. Sebastian's face in firelight, the warmth of him beneath his fingers, the vulnerability neither had expected to share.
"No," he said finally. "Whatever comes, I don't regret it."
Around them, warriors continued their practice, metal glinting in the morning sun as they moved through the new formations. They were preparing for war with an enemy they barely understood, against forces that had been perfecting their deadly craft for centuries. Yet watching them adapt, seeing how quickly they incorporated the lessons about vampire nobles into their training, Boarstaff felt a flicker of hope beneath the weight of responsibility. Perhaps transformation wasn't limited to Sebastian alone.
Chapter Twelve
